


Across the Pond

by AlwaysJohn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Resident ducks, different first meeting, two lonely men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 07:07:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20774534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysJohn/pseuds/AlwaysJohn
Summary: A first meeting.





	Across the Pond

**Author's Note:**

> I have such admiration for the people who do transcripts. I nearly went batty doing a bit of my own for this story. It's really difficult to watch and type at the same time. I don't think I'll try that again!!

When he needed a place to recuperate after suffering injuries on an NSY case that went awry, Sherlock was rendered speechless by his brother’s offer to occupy the guest cottage at his estate. 

As his gaze swept over his brother’s cell-like bolt hole slash office, he paused to consider a suitable response.

“Why?”

Mycroft raised a lordly eyebrow as he looked at Sherlock with barely concealed exasperation. “Can I not offer a safe place for my brother?”

“But why?” 

Mycroft sighed, pointedly ignoring his query. “I will be away for a few days. Here is a key. Do with it as you please.”

“I have one.”

“Of course you do. Do you also have a key to the guest cottage?” 

“Yes.”

“Fine, then you won’t need to pick the lock. The refrigerator, and pantry are fully stocked. Help yourself.”

“I prefer takeaway.” 

Mycroft sniffed his displeasure. “Yes, well, suit yourself.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, ready to deduce his brother, but as his older sibling had schooled his expression to one of disinterest, and turned back to the documents on his desk, there was no obvious tell. “Mycroft, I’m suspicious when you are kind to me.”

Mycroft did not look up. “Yes, well, no need for suspicion, brother mine. Additionally, I implore you, no experiments while you are there and mind the ducks.”

“What about the ducks? Must I feed them?”

“If you wish, perhaps to allay boredom, but you are not to harass them, or feed them human food. There are bins of proper food beside the benches, otherwise, they are quite self-sufficient.”

Sherlock heard _as you should be, brother mine_ in his head and observed it in his brother’s supercilious, nose in the air expression when he deigned to look up. He rolled his eyes in annoyance and chose to dismiss it as Mycroft’s failed attempt at humour.__

_ _Mycroft rose from behind his desk. A dismissal. “My car awaits you at the side gate. Have a pleasant stay, Sherlock and do take care of yourself.”_ _

_ _Sherlock exited without a goodbye. His suspicion remained firmly in place. _ _

_ _~~0~~_ _

_ _By mid-afternoon the next day, after he’d settled in, prepared and eaten a light lunch and taken his tea to the veranda, Sherlock stood at the edge of the sloping lawn observing the ducks huddled together on the perfectly attended grass and doing nothing of interest. He felt no overwhelming need to feed them...ever. _ _

_ _He recalled being informed that the carefully maintained habitat was shared by Mycroft and his neighbor and that a natural path surrounding the pond was a quarter mile in distance. Why he had retained the recollection he couldn’t fathom. He deleted it, but made a mental note. Perhaps in the cool of the morning he’d take in a leisurely stroll. _ _

_ _The cottage on the far side of the pond appeared unoccupied, but his mind, with a momentary flight of fancy, entertained the notion that someone watched from behind its dark windows. When night came, and with it the need for lamplight... _ _

_ _Curiosity, the need to solve puzzles and unravel mysteries, was a double-edged sword. It kept his mind focused, and, as his brother often lectured, drew him into dangerous situations that one day might very well be the end of him. Nevertheless, life was dull and tedious without it. Boring and hateful as well. _ _

_ _“No, NoPe, Mycroft get out of my head,” he grumbled, pushing away the image of his brother. _ _

_ _Mindful of his broken ribs, aggravated as they were from the car ride from Baker Street and the unpacking of his luggage, Sherlock gingerly lowered his aching body to a cushioned chaise, leaned back and closed his eyes. The warmth of the sun on his chest and an intermittent breeze soothed him. He drifted, finally giving in to sleep._ _

_ _~~0~~_ _

_ _To his surprise Sherlock woke much later in the evening twilight. He hadn’t realised he’d been so fatigued, but he was pleased that he now felt less so, if not in body, at least in mind. His ribs ached, but it was manageable without active pain. _ _

_ _A sudden spot of light that he at first thought was the setting sun glinting off the window opposite was in fact a light turned on from within. Seconds later, garden lights bathed the pond and the surrounding flora and fauna, about which he knew little, with a soft glow._ _

_ _As Sherlock surveyed the landscape, movement at the cottage door caught his eye. From out of the shadows a man slowly navigated the garden steps to the path surrounding the pond. As his unidentified neighbor walked beneath the first light, Sherlock observed his limp and his cane, but more obvious was his military bearing as he continued his walk along the path. _ _

_ _The man settled on the first of the four benches, and for several minutes stared at the water until the ducks noticed his presence and began making their way toward him. They’d obviously grown accustomed to his presence. _ _

_ _Sherlock empathised with the man as he watched him struggle to lower himself to the grass beside the bin. The ducks swarmed around him as he fed them by hand, one bird climbing onto his lap._ _

_ _For a moment he considered walking down to introduce himself, but on further thought decided not to interrupt the man’s solitude._ _

_ _There was always tomorrow._ _

_ _~~0~~_ _

_ _Sherlock bathed and readied himself for a night of perusing several cold case files he’d brought along. Not in the least tired, he made himself comfortable with as many pillows as he could find and settled down. _ _

_ _~~0~~_ _

_ _A sliver of the morning sun on his face and a brief dream of his mysterious neighbor woke him from a deep sleep. Ruminating in the shower convinced him that introductions were essential, if only to keep his boredom at bay. So far he’d been free of it, but it was there, lurking in the dark corners of his Mind Palace ready to pounce. Better to nip it in the bud. He hoped the man was better company than the water foul. _ _

_ _Sherlock dressed in jeans, shirt and trainers rather than his usual clothes, for comfort as much as not wanting to appear too formal when introducing himself. On his way to the door, Sherlock paused at the window. There on the same bench as he had the previous day, his neighbor sat, this time with a mug of either tea or coffee cradled in his two hands, and once again staring into the distance. _ _

_ _Retracing his steps to the kitchen, Sherlock filled a bowl with a selection of fruits, four almond croissants, and as his neighbor already had a drink, he poured a coffee for himself. Before he could change his mind, he was out the door, down the stone steps and onto the path. As he approached the bench and his person of interest, Sherlock coughed a bit to announce himself without startling the man._ _

_ _~~0~~_ _

_ _“A beautiful morning, indeed.” _ _

_ _The man stood, head low, avoiding eye contact as though uncomfortable with the intrusion. “Yes, a beautiful morning.”_ _

_ _He offered his hand. “Sherlock Holmes.”_ _

_ _The man hesitated before reaching but when he finally slipped his hand into Sherlock’s, his grip was firm, his hand warm. _ _

_ _“John Watson.”_ _

_ _Sherlock liked him, surprised by the instant attraction. He did not deduce him, nor subject him to his intense scrutiny that might put him off, but he did observe. _ _

_ _Red-rimmed eyes. A hollow slant to his face, recently ill. He was hungry, Sherlock gleaned from John’s prolonged stare at the food in the bowl. _ _

_ _“Pleasure to meet you, John Watson. It isn’t a proper breakfast or brunch, but I’d be happy to share it with you.”_ _

_ _John licked his lips, as he continued to stare at the bowl. Sherlock placed the food on the bench. “Do help yourself, John.”_ _

_ _Trust issues, he gathered from the fisting and release of his hands. “As a neighborly gesture of sorts, since we seem to share a pond and some ducks. Shall we sit down?”_ _

_ _“All right.”_ _

_ _As John reached for a croissant, Sherlock continued his observations. An intermittent tremor in his left hand, possibly his dominant one. Injury of some sort. Military, a wound perhaps. _ _

_ _The pastry was gone in two bites. Sherlock reached for one, leaving the other two for John. With a sly smile, Sherlock watched John devour everything but one apple. He obviously hadn’t eaten in a very recently._ _

_ _“So, John, how long have you been here?”_ _

_ _John finished chewing before responding. “My month’s rent is up tomorrow.”_ _

_ _Hopes dashed for someone to chat with, Sherlock frowned. “Where will you go? Will you stay in London?”_ _

_ _“I can’t afford London on an army pension. I’ll probably find a bedsit somewhere.”_ _

_ _A scenario appeared without a conscious thought. He held his breath. “What about a flatshare?”_ _

_ _John laughed, but there was no humour in the sound. He averted his gaze. “No one would want me as a flatmate.”_ _

_ _There, the tremor. He’s uncomfortable discussing the personals of his life. _ _

_ _“I would.”_ _

_ _John slowly shook his head. “We’ve just met. You don’t know anything about me.” _ _

_ _“I’ve been told I’m a very good judge of character.”_ _

_ _John finally met Sherlock’s gaze for just a moment. Those eyes filled with pain and suddenly a little too bright, skittered away as though he knew Sherlock could see all that he kept hidden deep inside himself. Yes, there was something good and decent in this man and it drew him in. Oh, yes, he was a very good judge of character._ _

_ _“Care to walk a bit?”_ _

_ _“All right.”_ _

_ _Sherlock didn’t mention that John left his cane leaning against the bench. He just smiled and fell into step at his side. After the second time around the pond, John no longer limped, nor did he fist his fingers. Pleased that the remedy was as simple as getting John out of his own head, Sherlock grinned._ _

_ _~~0~~_ _

_ _Following several turns around the pond, and side long glances at his new acquaintance, Sherlock decided he wasn’t about to give up on the mystery that was John Watson. He made it his immediate goal to feed him up._ _

_ _“Dinner?”_ _

_ _“Starving.”_ _

_ _“My brother..”_ _

_ _“Your brother?”_ _

_ _Sherlock waved a hand toward the main house.“ Yes, this is his estate. I’ve just sequestered myself here until the press turns to someone more interesting.”_ _

_ _“I’ve not been in London..or the UK for a long while. Are you famous?”_ _

_ _“You might say that, yes.”_ _

_ _John stopped to look up at him. “Are you a murderer or something?”_ _

_ _When Sherlock chuckled, John’s mouth quirked up a bit. “Something, no, not a murderer although I’ve been accused of that now and then, I’m a consulting detective. The only one in the world. I invented the job.”_ _

_ _“Sorry, what?”_ _

_ _“When the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me.”_ _

_ _John was silent, obviously deep in thought. Sherlock could almost hear the effort._ _

_ _“I assure you, John, what I do is nothing illegal.”_ _

_ _“All right.”_ _

_ _“If it helps, my brother occupies a minor position in the British Government. Or so he tells everyone.”_ _

_ _“Oh.”_ _

_ _“He is the British Government, when he’s not too busy being British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis.”_ _

_ _“Oh.”_ _

_ _John looked perplexed, but not at all uncomfortable with the new information. That he didn’t retreat to his cottage to distance himself meant a great deal to Sherlock. One step at a time._ _

_ _“So, I believe I offered dinner.”_ _

_ _“And I believe I’m still starving.”_ _

_ _~~0~~_ _

_ _It was late when they finished dinner and John stayed to help with the washing up. _ _

_ _“I should go, Sherlock. I have to pack my things, straighten up and be out early.”_ _

_ _Sherlock turned from the sink. “I’m..I’m not very good with people, but I’ve enjoyed our time together.”_ _

_ _“Yes, I’ve enjoyed today very much, Sherlock. Thank you for dinner and the company. I haven’t, I mean today I didn’t feel so alone.”_ _

_ _Sherlock didn’t know what to say to that, so he nodded and smiled, and hoped John understood. When he walked him to the door, he wasn’t so sure. All the uncertainty melted away when John reached the path and turned to look up at him one last time. They each raised a hand to say goodbye. _ _

_ _Halfway down the length of the pond, John paused to retrieve his cane. When he continued on, his limp had returned. _ _

_ _Sherlock watched until John climbed the few steps to his cottage and disappeared inside. _ _

_ _~~0~~_ _

_ _When sleep wouldn’t come, Sherlock spent the night walking around the pond. The ducks clustered on the water mocked him in their silent slumber._ _

_ _Each time his walk brought him close to John’s cottage, he looked for some sign that he might be awake, but there was only darkness behind those windows. Once at half three, he heard John cry out, but he dared not knock on the door. He wanted to, pushed back the urge to, but couldn’t bring himself to intrude on John’s privacy._ _

_ _Eventually Sherlock returned to his cottage, wrapped himself in a blanket and curled up on the chaise to rest his aching ribs. It eventually occurred to him that during the hours they’d spent together, his ribs, like John’s limp, hadn’t been an issue. In the hours just before dawn, he wondered if John’s leg now hurt as much as his ribs._ _

_ _~~0~~_ _

_ _John stood beside the duck pond, his meager belongings in two small carryalls and a small wooden box at his feet. His demeanor from a distance looked for all the world like each and every synonym for lost. Lonely. _ _

_ _He tried his best to approach John with a nonchalance he did not feel. Doubts that his reading of John, however improbable, might be all wrong. Lonely people often sought other lonely people. His small confidence diminished as he drew near, but when John looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes awash with tears Sherlock knew he had to take the chance. _ _

_ _“Sometimes I don’t speak for days on end. Would that bother you?”_ _

_ _“Sorry, what?” John whispered, then cleared his throat._ _

_ _“I play the violin when I’m thinking.”_ _

_ _John attempted a smile, but it drifted away. “Why are you telling me this?”_ _

_ _“Prospective flatmates should know the worst about each other.”_ _

_ _John’s lip twitched. Sherlock observed his desperation and the pride that held him in check._ _

_ _A single tear traced his cheek. “I have nightmares, sometimes violent ones.”_ _

_ _He offered his hand. “Sherlock Holmes.”_ _

_ _There were trust issues, perhaps, but only a momentary hesitation before John’s hand clasped his._ _

_ _“John Watson.”_ _

_ _“Afghanistan or Iraq?” _ _

_ _~~0~~_ _

_ _As they approached the cottage, Sherlock spied Mycroft in the doorway of the main house._ _

_ _“Oh, for God's sake.”_ _

_ _“Who is that?”_ _

_ _“My meddlesome brother.”_ _

_ _“Sherlock..?”_ _

_ _“You’re a doctor,” he interrupted, changing the course of their conversation._ _

_ _“How? Oh, my kit.”_ _

_ _“Perhaps you would join me for breakfast? You must be hungry. And afterwards consent to examine my broken ribs?”_ _

_ _John stared at him, nodded his head and swiped at his tears with the back of his hand. “Of course.”_ _

_ _Sherlock glanced up to once more catch his brother’s gaze and sighed at his smug, know-it-all-smile and the annoying quirk of an eyebrow. _ _

_ _With his hand at the small of his back, he guided John to the veranda. “Come, John, I have much to share with you.”_ _

_ _Once inside and away from Mycroft’s prying eyes, Sherlock turned to John. “You’re a doctor. In fact you’re an army doctor.”_ _

_ _“Yes.”_ _

_ _“Any good?”_ _

_ _“Very good.”_ _

_ _“Seen a lot of injuries, then, violent deaths.”_ _

_ _“Mmm, yes.”_ _

_ _“Bit of trouble, too, I’ll bet.”_ _

_ _“Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much.”_ _

_ _“Wanna see some more?”_ _

_ _“Oh, God, yes.”_ _

_ _“I occupy a flat in central London. If you’re amenable, I think you will find the rent more reasonable than a bedsit and more comfortable as well. My landlady has been dropping hints that I need a flatmate. She’s a bit nosy, but she means well..”_ _


End file.
